Pondering ‘Life of Pi’
By Veronica Nkwocha
I watched Life of Pi.
It struck me how life has a funny way of throwing us out of our comfort zone.
It is inevitable.
Life is but a swing and we must brace ourselves for the ups and downs.
Sometimes she comes when we are least prepared but like Pi, we find on the inside, an inner strength that astounds us and our naysayers.
Tomorrow must come.
And tomorrow, full of life and love can be birthed from adversity and a seeming hopelessness.
Those who hold our hands through it all may come from the unlikeliest of places,
the ferocious tiger tamed to a degree how can it be?
Miracles pop out and usher us along as we traverse life’s path and bring cheer along dreary dark journeys;
towards an end which may not be what we first dreamed
but stunning in its beauty and happiness all the same.
The sheer miracle of having survived those dark days make up for the all the melancholy music that hummed
as though towards an eternal hopelessness.
No, your end will surely be better,
the human spirit triumphs once again.
*P.s. I wrote this many months ago when I watched ‘Life of Pi’
The Fifth Narrative by Veronica Nkwocha
Where conscience clings fast like whispers of faith in a tumultuous storm,
Where tears run, and rivers of fear reside.
Where dreams are dashed and storms of faith persist like anger from a midday sun
Leaving welts of pain and nudging a macabre, unending dance.
The simmer of hope and the sheaves of truth lay stacked atop Her festering wound.
Tarry a while Avarice calls
Nay, stay fast and sup our feast
We dance in the shadows of the bleating sheep and ride the mares whichever way we please
Tarry and dance atop their foals and ride with us as we travel on, urged on by our raging loins
Oh tarry not at their doleful gaze
Peer not at their whimpering tremor
For even though they know it not they are our ship of hidden treasure
Only do not caress Her hand and heal not Her festering wound
Where the first fails and the second and the third and the fourth
Where estates lay bare and empty and turn their gaze from Her glance
Where the fifth strums and the howling wind calls, a song adrift through the ages
And flowers crushed by the rampaging are tended, are washed and embraced
For tomorrow holds the simmering of hope and the sheaves of truth blossom into a harvest